


True Beauty

by AmunetMana



Series: Kings and Queens [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Brainwashing, Crossdressing, Forced Feminization, Kings and Queens, M/M, Pitch is a creeper, creepy creepy creeper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1255105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmunetMana/pseuds/AmunetMana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack never appreciated his own beauty. Pitch has stood by long enough seeing him destroy his own loveliness.</p><p>But that all stops now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> Nicole's fault.
> 
> That is all.

The silver-white figure was tiny, encased on the huge black throne. White silk and diamonds dripped around the lithe form, falling straight with no curves to hinder their path. A glistening black crown was sat atop his head, holding the gauzy white veil in place. The figure stirred a little, lifting glassy, unfocused eyes to peer into the darkness ahead of them, a soft whine escaping their lips.

 

“My darling…?” came the voice out of the darkness, and Pitch stepped forward into the weak light. His own robes were voluptuous, shot with silver that looked like ice, and jet beads that made his movements only just visible in the dark; the flash out of the corner of your eye in the darkness of the woods. A matching crown of black sand sat atop his own head.

 

“My _King_ ,” came the breathy response, lips pulling up into a faint smile as hands reached out, gasping for their ruler.

 

“My Queen,” Pitch soothed, stepping into the reach of grasping hands. “Were you lonely here, all by yourself? You looked so very pretty. A doll on their throne, glimmering in the darkness.”

 

Another whine sounded out, and Pitch lifted the figure up, marvelling at the fragility of the tiny body, sitting down in the throne himself and arranging his Queen on his lap. The silk pooled over both of them, enveloping his Queen so fully, the tiny figure could barely walk.

 

But that was alright. He didn’t need to walk. Didn’t need to be able to do anything without Pitch’s aid. The silvery head rested against Pitch’s shoulder, lips still spread in that sleepy, contented grin. Black sand glistened on his eyelids.

 

“I wonder…” Pitch mused, “We must invite the Guardians to visit some time. Would you like that?”

 

It was loaded, loaded high and ready to topple.

 

But his delicate Queen only blinked up at him in confusion, foggy blankness a haze over his features. “Guardians?” he echoed, the word like a puzzle he hadn’t the interest to care for. Pitch smiled.

 

“Your old friends, dearest. They’ll be missing you terribly you know. They don’t believe you’re happy.” He tugged the veil around the Queen’s shoulders, as though tucking a small child into bed. Blue eyes blinked up at him, showing no recognition.

 

“Don’t need anyone else,” came the small response in the end. “I have my King.”

 

“So you do my darling,” Pitch gathered the figure close in his arms. “So you do, little Jack.”

 

~

 

_“No you can’t! Let me go, let me go! I swear Pitch, I’ll ice this whole place, I’ll make a blizzard in here and bring it all down on your head!”_

_Pitch chucked, spinning the staff in his grip. “Oh indeed, Jack. And how will you do that, all tied up and without this?” he waggled the staff in front of the bound spirit, who snarled and snapped at Pitch. Pitch frowned. “Manners, Jack,” he admonished, sounding affronted. “Surely even the Guardians would not approve of you snarling like some beast. So very unbecoming.”_

_“The Guardians will come here,” Jack snarled, further enraged as Pitch tilted his head to the side, fixing him with a bored look. “They will! They’ll come and you’ll be sorry Pitch, You’ll be sorry you – “_

_“Oh hush dearest,” Pitch murmured, stepping forward and pulling Jack’s chin into his grip. With a single, swift motion he blew dark sand across the frost spirit’s features. Jack coughed, spluttered, sand catching in his eyes and on his tongue as he twisted in Pitch’s grip, trying to wrench his chin free. Pitch’s grip was strong however, and within minutes of the sand settling, Jack’s eyelids began to droop, and soon the coiled ropes of nightmare sand unfurled, depositing Jack into Pitch’s arms._

_Jack whimpered faintly, and Pitch shooshed him, curling a comforting hand into Jacks’ hair. “There, there, precious,” he murmured, carrying Jack through the shadows and into a room almost filled by the bed within it, a canopied, king size affair of plush pillows and soft covers in black and blue so dark they were barely discernable._

_Pitch placed Jack down on it softly, admiring the stark contrast of his hair against the sheets. Gently, gently he maneuvered the tiny spirit, peeling his hoodie free over his head, before working his trousers free from his narrow hips. He couldn’t help but drag his fingers along the pale flesh left in the wake of old, worn clothing. His fingers were black with sand, and they left trailing patterns across his skin, swirling of their own volition before sinking in, until they rested like a living tattoo within Jack’s limbs._

_Pitch crawled up onto the bed, straddling the boy’s hips, their combined weight pressing into the sheets and making it appear as though Jack’s white form may be swallowed up at any moment._

_He was so, so beautiful, Pitch mused as he brushed his fingers through Jack’s hair, across his eyelids. It was such a shame the boy didn’t appreciate his own grace. Spent more time and effort making snow days than improving himself, allowing himself to be beautiful and delicate, a sculpture of ice with life breathed into it._

_Well. He would take care of that now._

_It was a little while before Jack finally stirred, a slow languid movement that had his stretching his arms delicately outward, searching, reaching, into the air. Pitch wove his fingers in with Jack’s, and as if in response, dusky coloured eyelids fluttered open._

_Cold and dark truly was perfection. The nightmare sand traced around Jack’s eyelids, across his cheekbones, highlighting the features, bringing them out in his face. And his eyes…like blue glass. His eyes were usually so full of emotion, excitement and over flowing, bubbling energy. That was all gone now. Now their colour truly shone out, still and cool, reflecting the shimmer of light around him._

_“Hello my Queen,” Pitch greeted the waking spirit smoothly. Never unlinking their fingers, he arranged Jack until the boy was sitting across his lap, held at a right angle to Pitch’s chest. Nothing thrilled the Bogeyman about it quite so much as the fact that Jack had let him. He had not squirmed or yelled – he hadn’t even spoken. But the boy’s gaze turned to him slowly, those still, perfect eyes fixing faintly on his face, brows barely furrowed._

_“…Queen?” the boy said, asked, in a rasp. Pitch smiled, a slow, triumphant thin as he curled his fingers against Jack’s cheek._

_“Of course. Don’t you remember?” Jack’s loo was blank, his beautiful lips parted softly, but a little dry. Pitch dipped his hand into a bowl sat beside the bed, before he ran a dripping finger across them, the droplets catching on Jack’s lips until they glistened and shone, frosty beauty to complement the sparkling black sand across his eyes. “I am your King, and you my precious, delicate Queen.” Pitch’s expression slipped into a frown then, as he tugged at Jack’s hair, ran his hand over rough knuckles, glancing to the pile of discarded clothing. “you were being very bad,” Pitch told Jack, lifting the boy up as he stood, depositing his back on the huge bed._

_Jack mewled immediately, looking suddenly so very lost without his King, not knowing what to do with himself alone. Well of course. It was he reason he’d made so many bad choices so far in life, Pitch reminded himself. Engaging in snowball fights, trying to please children, the_ Guardians _…all because he had not known Pith. Had not known his true purpose; his_ only _purpose. “You need to make amends,” Pitch told Jack firmly, reaching to stroke Jack’s cheek with his thumb, back and forth, back and forth. Jack leant into the touch immediately, such relief on his face. Yes, this was good. His body knew what his mind had always tried to deny._

_Pitch stepped to the side, and in the next second there was a pool of white silk on the bed beside Jack. The boy, his Queen, barely reacted, certainly showing no shock or surprise, only a faint interest in the newly appeared fabric. “you can begin by dressing in a fashion which befits your status, my Queen,” Pitch said softly, his golden eyes alight as he leant forward. He waved a dismissive, jerky arm towards the discarded hoodie and trousers, “I trust you understand that_ that _,” he hissed, “those_ rags _you used to call clothing are an insult. An insult to your King, and to your own beauty.”_

_Jack’s eyes were wide and innocent as he gazed at Pitch, looking then to the clothes. “I understand,” he said softly, and his small hand reached out to grasp the white fabric beside him. Pitch was barely breathing as Jack slowly stood on shaking feet, looking so delicate that a breeze may bowl him over at any moment. Well. It was a good thing Pitch didn’t allow the wind down here. Jack would be far safe grounded._

_He drunk in the sight of Jack as the boy shook out the fabric, revealing a long gown. The boy had clearly never worn anything like it before, flowing fabric with a train of sparking thread, dripping with glittering stone, but he pulled it on slowly, smoothly. Pitch couldn’t help it, reaching out to run his hands across Jack’s bare back, the dress dipping low towards his waist, before erupting into layer upon layer of gauzy fabric that swirled behind Jack as he moved. Well, he could barely move. But he didn’t need to, Pitch thought, his hands finding Jack’s hair, his shoulders, his waist and thighs…then he stepped back, and took in the full image._

_Perfection._

_Standing still, his head just turned towards Pitch, engulfed in layers upon layers of delicate fabric, dripping with crstals…Jack was a vision._

_“Is it…good?”_

_The voice was quiet, so soft Pitch almost missed it in his daze. Jack was looking at him, his own hand running down the silk gently as he looked to Pitch’s face for his reaction. Pitch didn’t respond but stepped forward again, drawing a gauzy veil out of nowhere. Jack’s eyes fluttered close, as Pitch threw it over his head, cupping Jack’s face through the fabric._

_“You are perfect,” Pitch murmured, feeling how heavily Jack weighed on his hand, sinking into his touch. He felt a thrill a Jack’s own hand, trembling faintly, rose to press against Pitch’s fingers. Pitch took Jack by the hand, pulling him gently from the room, leading him to another with a large mirror, one in which Jack could see is full appearance, could see how Pitch stood beside him, enveloped him, the spot of purity in the darkness._

_“You see now, how bad it all was for you?” Pitch asked, arranging the gauze delicately across Jack’s hair, tutting quietly at the choppy locks. They needed righting, but there would be time later. They had all the time in the world now. The boy barely noticed, seemingly enraptured by his own appearance. “You came so close, my dearest, to ruining yourself. Are you not thankful…” nightmare sand coiled, and there was a crown atop Jack’s veiled head, “are you not_ so _glad that I have saved you?” Pitch embraced Jack fully, pulling the tiny body up against him. In the mirror it looked as though Jack was being swallowed by the darkness._

_Or even sacrificed._

_“I am,” cam Jack’s breathless response, and he looked so tired, so sated…_

_“Will you never let me go again?”_

_A dark smile._

_“Never.”_


End file.
